Handing Out Miracles

By Laura Schiller

Based on the Star Trek: Voyager Relaunch Series

Copyright: Paramount/Kirsten Beyer

The first time Hugh Cambridge came from a counselling session with Admiral Janeway, only to cancel their dinner date and show up visibly hungover at their next briefing, Seven kept a respectful silence. Everyone was hurting after their disastrous encounter with Omega, and everyone needed to express it in some way, even the most controlled man on the ship. The second time, however, was too much, and instead of cutting off the comm channel, she simply took the turbolift to his office and walked straight in.

He was stretched to full length on his favorite black leather sofa, his shoes on the armrest, his hands folded together beneath his head. He was staring at the ceiling. A glass of whisky and an open bottle sat on the coffee table. If they had lived five hundred years earlier, he would have been wreathed in cigarette smoke. Even now, the atmosphere felt toxic.

"Counselor?"

He turned toward her voice, flushed, and took his feet off the sofa in the manner of a sullen teenager caught in misbehavior.

"I know what you're about to say, Seven," he drawled wearily, lifting one hand to deflect her. "And I do assure you, this won't happen again. I've rescheduled my next session with the Admi – that is to say, it's a case of bad timing as much as anything else. It's not you, my dear," his hazel eyes softening as he looked up at her. "Please believe that. Depriving myself of your company is really the last thing I want to do."

"Nevertheless, you do so surprisingly often."

Hugh sighed. "I told you I have no talent for relationships."

"Neither have I, and I still make the effort."

He glared, but lowered his head in rueful acknowledgement of her point.

"Hugh," she said quietly, sitting down next to him on the sofa, trying not to turn away from the genuine alcohol on his breath. "I am trying to help you. I … do not care to see you in such distress."

That was a massive understatement, but she trusted that, as always, her English lover would read the truth between the lines. Judging by the way his eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners, he did.

Still, the emotional force field he was holding did not fall completely.

"I'm afraid," he ground out, "That what's bothering me falls under the heading of counselor-patient confidentiality. I wish - " He cut himself off and shook his head. "Never mind."

"Can you honestly believe that I would betray your confidence – or that of your patients?"

"Not all Starfleet regulations are made to be broken, Seven." He did not meet her eyes.

"If Admiral Janeway is involved – "

The raw grief and pain that contorted his face shocked her into silence.

"How did you know?" he rasped.

"You began to mention her just now," she snapped, growing impatient. "Before you interrupted yourself. I do know the Admiral better than most on this crew – with the exception of Chakotay – therefore if there is a problem with her treatment, might I not be able to advise you in some way?"

"Problem?" He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't worry. The miracle of the century can handle herself well enough."

"You dislike her."

She did not mean to sound flat and accusatory, but she did. Once past the initial astonishment and delight of Kathryn's return, Seven had found herself eager and nervous in equal parts about telling her former mentor that she was starting a new relationship. She fervently hoped that Kathryn would approve of Hugh, and was anxious that she wouldn't. That Hugh would disapprove of Kathryn, however, had never occurred to her. Disappointment gripped her like the cold hand of a drone.

"Of course I don't dislike the Admiral," said Hugh, sounding appalled, as if she were being ridiculous. "She's brilliant. Besides, how could I dislike someone so similar to you?"

"Then why … ?" Seven began, warmed by his implied compliment, but not enough to drop the subject.

Hugh leaned forward in his seat, ran both hands through his already tousled gray and brown curls, and let out a sigh of defeat.

"It's just," he said, "I'm getting so sick of hearing about the trauma caused by her return from the dead. Seven hundred and eighty-five people in this fleet, plus their friends and families, would have been grateful to have those problems. And that's this week alone. Three officers, three magnificent lives sacrificed for Voyager, and yet the multiverse saw fit to return only two of them. Where was Afsarah when it was handing out the miracles? Where's the bloody resurrection for my friend?"

Seven held back a gasp of painful empathy. She should have known that this would be the heart of the matter.

Though she did mourn for Captain Eden, the struggle against her Omega side and her final sacrifice, it did not affect her as strongly as it did Hugh, since she had not known the fleet commander very well. But she knew all too well how it felt to rage at the injustice of a loved one's death – the drone One, Admiral Janeway, Aunt Irene …

"Life is not fair, Hugh," she said.

"Yes, well," he chuckled mirthlessly in the back of his throat, "You think I of all people don't know that? It's practically my motto. But would it have hurt to be unfair in Afsarah's favor for once? Abandoned at fourteen by the only family she'd ever known, deceived as to her origins, heartbroken by that lizard of an ex-husband, created to destroy … She reminded me of myself sometimes, you know … too stubborn and too smart for her own good, never really fitting in … except I never had a fraction of her courage. She should have had a better life than this … a better death… "

Seven's hand hovered above his bent back. She wanted to hold him, kiss all his pain away, but had no idea how he would respond to such a gesture. She did not have his training in psychology. All she had was a fierce flood of pity, and how could she show that to a man as proud as he was?

He alway knew what to say when she broke down. What would he say to her, if she were in his place?

"What can I do?" she whispered. "Please … tell me … "

"You've already done something, Seven." His voice was flat and muffled as he stared down at the floor. "You broke through my reserve, and I'm truly grateful. Right now, though, what I really need is privacy."

"Are you sure?"

Finally he looked up at her, and she saw why he had avoided meeting her eyes. His own were red with unshed tears.

"Yes," he said. You see, I'm about to follow the advice I give my patients and," he sniffed, "Cry. It's terribly unflattering."

Seven nodded, with a pained little smile at the way he had to apply sarcasm even now. She knew how it felt to cling to one's dignity all the more in times of sorrow; besides being listened to, there was nothing she needed more in those moments than a quiet place to hide.

Before giving that to Hugh, however, there were two things she knew she had to do. One was to reach out and squeeze both his hands in hers, human and catomized, as he had done to comfort her after her first battle with the Caeliar voice. You are not alone, that touch had told her then, stronger and deeper than words, and right now he needed to feel the same.

The second thing was to pick up the whisky bottle from his table and drop it in the recycler. She braced herself for a protest, but he only smiled crookedly through his tears.

"You know where to find me," she said.

"Seven?" From where she stood by the door, his face was in shadow.

"Yes?"

"The day I met you," he muttered. "Was decidedly unfair in my favor. Just so you know."

"You are a most peculiar man, Counsellor," she said. "Good night."